


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐴 𝐹𝑒𝑤 𝐹𝑖𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [43]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt Aftermath, Surrealism, Teenage Bright, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, reader-driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝐴 𝐹𝑒𝑤 𝐹𝑖𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#a-few-figs-from-thistlesThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Series: Domino 🁡 [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐴 𝐹𝑒𝑤 𝐹𝑖𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Few Figs from Thistles](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685405) by Edna St. Vincent Millay. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[A Few Figs from Thistles](https://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/millay/figs/figs.html) \- Edna St. Vincent Millay  
>  **— Cover Song:**[I Will Follow You into the Dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDHY1D0tKRA) \- Death Cab for Cutie

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/a-few-figs-from-thistles.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
He will not last the night.

That’s what the doctor had said under his breath when they whisked Malcolm through the emergency room, straight back to surgery. Whether the man thought he was too far out of it to comprehend or just didn’t care, Malcolm didn’t know. As the sun shines on his face, the words continue to echo in his ears.

Doped up with he has no idea what, he doesn’t feel anything. His thighs and forearms are bandaged with rough gauze and tape that would have been irritating otherwise. The hospital gown is scratchy against his skin, and he is far more undressed than he’d like to be. Yet the sun is warm, comforting even, as it dances against his eyelids.

He made it. That should probably feel like a celebration, but it’s more a statement of fact, a heavy realization that he didn’t reach the end he’d been seeking. So easily able to achieve other things burning in every direction, but this goal was elusive. Unreachable. A failure, his father would call him.

Malcolm doesn’t deserve the comfort. Trying to shy away from the sun, he shifts a bit, and a groan emerges from his lips as some of his wounds make themselves known.

“Kid?” Gil says, and then there are two pairs of hands squeezing his shoulders. Jackie’s lilac body wash reaches his nose as she sits on the bed next to him. He lets his head fall against her arm.

“We’ve got you, Bright,” Jackie whispers, petting his hair.

Gil’s holding him close on the other side, rubbing his shoulder and neck before wrapping an arm around both him and his wife. Tears drip down Malcolm’s cheeks, and he’s unsure whether he’s grateful he’s alive or mourning that he’s not dead. His stomach is full of a confusing mess of emotions that makes him gag.

“The medicine might make you feel a little sick, honey,” she tells him. “We can get the pan if you need it.”

“I’m okay,” Malcolm manages to say, his voice gravelly.

“You going to open those beautiful, blue eyes?” Jackie coos.

Malcolm complies, blinking as he encounters Jackie’s black t-shirt. Turning his eyes toward Gil, he finds more creases on his face than he’s ever seen. More tears spill, flooding his vision. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. Though he’s not sure if he’s sorry for taking the action to begin with or just that he’s sorry he’s still around to see the end result of pain looking back.

“We’ve got you,” Gil repeats Jackie’s words.

Malcolm closes his eyes again, unable to bear the looks on their faces. They’d expected him to be at school, they were surely missing work to be with him — he’s caused greater destruction by not getting the job done right.

“Are you in any pain?” Jackie asks.

Malcolm can’t begin to explain the pain that’s locked so far away inside his head, he doesn’t feel anything. He shakes his head.

“Your mom will be here soon. She’s under the weather,” Gil says. With the amount of time that’s passed, Malcolm knows this means she’s drunk and hungover. At fifteen, he’s aware enough to know none of them are fooled. He lets the statement go by without comment anyway, figuring it’s a disguise they might need to get through this.

“You’re here,” Malcolm says, braving handfuls of Jackie’s t-shirt and Gil’s sweater. The movement aggravates his wounds as he stretches, but the resulting comfort is worth the effort. His mother’s presence would add noise to the situation — he finds he doesn’t really miss it. He has the two people he needs beside him. Taking a deep sniff in, he tries to halt his tears.

“You can let it out, honey,” Jackie encourages.

Malcolm’s stomach growls and he chuckles a little, breaking the solemness of the room. “Lemon Jell-O, kid?” Gil asks, pulling back.

“Please,” Malcolm replies.

“Coming right up.” Gil leaves him and Jackie curled up together.

“I have one of your sweaters, or Gil’s sweatshirt if you want,” she says. “And a pair of shorts.”

“Sweatshirt,” Malcom requests.

Jackie helps him clean up with a warm washcloth. He’s exhausted and needs assistance getting the clothes fully on, but he feels a bit better once he’s covered in familiar scents. Arms hiding inside the huge sweatshirt sleeves, his bandages are no longer visible.

“Good?” Jackie asks.

Malcolm nods. The boxers feel weird compared to his normal shorts, but tight material would have been painful against his bandages. Regardless, they’re better than his former naked state under the hospital gown. He’s grateful they had the forethought to bring him clothes.

“Bets on where he finds the Jell-O?” Jackie teases as he rests against her arm again.

“Last time the cafeteria had it,” Malcolm says.

“I don’t know — maybe a store run,” she counters.

“Could just be stalling so you could work your magic.”

“Onto us, huh?”

Malcolm yawns into her t-shirt sleeve.

“Sleep, honey,” she says, running her fingers through his hair. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t eat it all.”

“You’ll stay here?” He needs them more than anything else.

“Of course.”

His breathing evens out, and the combination of medication and tiredness lulls him into a haze.

“Two cups of lemon Jell-O,” Gil announces upon his return.

“Shhh,” Jackie says, holding Malcolm closer.

“I’ll look ready to pop if I put his on,” Gil comments.

“There’s another in the car if you get cold,” she says in a hushed voice.

“He say anything?”

“No.”

“I wish kids had one bit of understanding of the damage they cause.”

“If a grown man doesn’t get it, it’s a stretch to think kids will.”

“They’re gonna kill him,” Gil’s voice breaks on the last word, and the bed sinks next to Jackie.

“I’m here,” Malcolm says sleepily, and two sets of arms wrap tighter around him.

“We’re so glad,” Jackie replies, and Gil echoes, “Good, kid.”

Malcolm falls asleep in the safety of their arms, his life burning on.

— ◌◯◌ —

When Gil found Bright, he thought he was going to have to give him shit for taking a nap on the job. Seated next to the bookcase, slumped against it, all signs pointed to the kid was exhausted beyond belief and his body had finally worn out. A holler of “Bright!” across the room didn’t rouse him from his slumber, nor did a shake at his shoulder — the kid only fell over further. The splatter of vomit he spotted on Bright’s other shoulder did little to allay his concern. Wrapping one hand around the back of Bright’s neck to shake him a little harder and the other around Bright’s wrist, all Gil found was heat and a racing heartbeat. Pushing one eye open with finger and thumb, a huge pupil stared back.

Thoughts jumping to one conclusion he had to fight to bite back, Gil cursed himself for letting the kid out of his sight. They’d been separated for a while during the search of the house — who knew how long he’d been sitting there in trouble. Who knew what sort of drug interaction he was looking at? Mind racing, he recalled the list of medications in his wallet he’d need to pull out for the paramedics.

Bright had been fine walking into the scene, focused on the case and ready to find out if the claim of suspicious circumstances in the woman’s death was the truth. The whole time they had been together, the kid had chattered away, a commanding presence at the scene providing his typical level of annoyance to those unfamiliar with his methods. Then the kid had wandered off, another occurrence as regular as his morning coffee.

It seemed like an eternity waiting for the bus to arrive. Gil got Bright into a recovery position, removed his loosened tie, and undid the top buttons of his shirt, the team hovering, making sure he was still breathing. The room narrowed down to his kid, Gil speaking a stream of words he didn’t comprehend, merely trying to soothe Bright and let him know help was coming. That he wasn’t alone.

Looking at Malcolm in the hospital bed now, he’s still breathing, unassisted. He’s still unconscious, too, and the doctor reported it might take several days for that to resolve. Gil scratches his brow and calls JT, unable to bring himself to leave the kid’s side, yet needing an update from the team at the scene.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


End file.
